


Living in Twilight

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-18
Updated: 2008-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are all different kinds of Hunters, with all different kinds of methods.<br/><b>Note:</b> This is sort-of a crossover with the HP-verse; sort-of, because characters from the books never make their way into the text of this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living in Twilight

_And dreaming through the twilight that doth not rise nor set  
Haply may I remember, and haply may I forget._  
Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Betsy wiped down the counter. It was the end of her shift at the diner, though at least she wasn't closing. Her stupid brother might be back from the factory by now. If he had really worked overtime, he'd be hungry and ornery. She could snatch up the last of the blueberry pie on the way out; that would keep Nathan from hitting every bar in town and spending his paycheck on booze and cards. If she could do that, then they'd have an easier time paying the month's rent. It had been Mama's job to keep Nathan in line, and since her death the year before, it had fallen to Betsy. Nathan was four years older but drank as much as Pa used to before it killed him.

Betsy collected the last of the blueberry pie and sealed it in a container she could return the next day. She walked the fifteen blocks home. After Grant Street, there were no overhead lights. It was just growing dark on that August night, with a faint breeze. Leaves rustled overhead, and Betsy looked up with a half smile. They blocked the stars, but she knew they were all overhead. She'd wanted astronomy once, when Mama was still alive. Mama had prized education, and wanted Betsy to get the heck out of their rinky-dink town. She'd been at school when Mama died, staying late for cheerleading practice. Nathan had found her. Come to think of it, since then Nathan had started to drink even more.

She let herself into the house. They rented the second floor of Old Man Henry's old house. There used to be first floor tenants before she, Nathan and Mama had arrived. They'd only moved to town after Pa's death four years before, and no one had rented out the first floor.

"Nathan? You home?"

There was no answer, and the house was dark.

"Dammit, he's off drinking the rent money again. Nathan, you inconsiderate prick..." Betsy threw the blueberry pie into the fridge. It would make a good breakfast. She was opening at the diner, though she wasn't a Key yet. It would be a sad day when Betsy cared enough about that beat up old place to _want_ to be an assistant manager, even if it did pay more.

While the water was running in the bathroom sink, Betsy could hear a groaning noise. She put down her toothbrush and peeked into the hall. "Nathan?" All she could hear was the water in the sink running. She hurriedly splashed some water onto the brush. Old Man Henry would bitch again if they ran up the water bill. She started brushing her teeth when the groaning sound came again. It was followed by another groan soon after.

_House settling,_ Betsy tried to tell herself. Nothing ever happened in this old town. It was in the middle of nowhere and there was nothing important about it.

Betsy walked out into the hallway and headed to the living room. Once upon a time it used to be the sitting room to a large master bedroom. The bedroom was hers now, but she shared the sitting room with her brother, who still wasn't home.

She opened her bedroom door, not aware of closing it that morning. As soon as she stepped foot inside the room, the door slammed shut behind her.

The groaning sound was louder now, and sounded like a _voice_ moaning in pain.

Betsy turned to face the sound, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. There was a chill in the room, her breath coming in puffs.

A figure covered in blood was hanging from one of the exposed beams in her ceiling, dark hair over its face.

Screaming, Betsy grabbed the doorknob and tried to escape her bedroom. These things didn't happen in small towns...

The figure's head rose, and the strings of bloody, dark hair fell away from the face. Her face was mottled and bruised, black tongue lolling from swollen blue lips. Her eyes were bloodshot, staring at Betsy. She could feel her heart jackhammer in her chest, and it was hard to breathe. The dead girl in the bedroom stretched her lips into a caricature of a grin and cut herself down from the beam.

Suddenly, she was in front of Betsy. "Am I pretty?" the dead girl rasped, reaching out to touch Betsy's face.

The breath flew out of her lungs as she screamed. She was caught in a whirlwind, something winding tight around her neck. She could see the bloodshot eyes crinkle in laughter, but Betsy could no longer scream.

Betsy fell from the overhead beam, her neck breaking.

The sound was loud in the empty apartment, the whirlwind dying and then dissipating. The bedroom door slowly swung open.

Betsy's dark hair was fallen down over her face, and blood was dripping down from the myriad cuts on her face, arms and chest.

A faint sound could be heard, if anyone had been alive to hear it.

Laughter.

***

"Hey, Sammy, take a look at this."

Sam took the proffered paper from Dean and scanned the circled article. A young girl had been murdered in her home, no sign of forced entry. He looked up. "That's pretty weak."

"It's not that far from here, and there's _nothing_ else weird in there."

"There's got to be something..." Sam began flipping through the newspaper, scanning the articles. "Dammit. That's a weak one, Dean."

"Still worth a shot," Dean reasoned, stuffing laundry into a bag. "Hey. How many quarters have we got left?"

"One load," Sam replied, throwing down the paper. He began packing up his own clothing. "Do you think it's big enough to have a larger circulation than here?"

"Nicer town name. You never know."

"How will this get us closer to finding Dad?"

"Listen. We'll bust up some bad guys, burn some bones and figure out what job Dad did and track him down. The end."

Sam pulled a shirt out of the dirty laundry pile and threw it at Dean. "Hey! Do your own laundry, will you?"

Dean laughed and packed his bag. "Whiny bitch." He cinched his bag shut. "Hey, on the bright side, you don't have to deal with that pushy waitress at the Applebee's anymore."

Sam rolled his eyes and fished more clothes out from under the motel bed. At least it wasn't going to be a long drive.

***

The town of Blue Haven boasted two different civic clubs and a population of 23,750 according to the sign that greeted them on the way in. The sign also had a building on the front that was likely the town hall. The walls were sky blue and roof was done in deep blue shingles. "Hey, Sam. Think that's why they call it Blue Haven?" Dean asked, nodding at the sign.

The dead girl's funeral had been the day before. Black crepe hung in the window of a diner as they drove past. "The article said she was a waitress, right?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Then that's the place to check," Sam said, pointing to the diner.

Dean pulled up nearby. "Eh, it's lunch time anyway."

The diner was standard fare, and its décor was like something out of a 1950's sitcom. The waitresses pasted on smiles when the brothers walked in. Sam noticed one hastily wiping at her eyes. They sat down at a booth near the counter, where two young men were sitting down with cups of coffee in front of them. They hadn't talked about how they would get information; usually Dean just winged it.

When the waitress came back with their lunch, Sam stopped her. "Uh... Miss? Is something going on in town? Everyone seems really upset about something here."

She forced a smile that didn't touch her eyes and looked at their faces uncertainly. "There was a funeral lately. Yesterday. She used to work here." Fresh sobs broke out from the tearful waitress in the back of the diner. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"But you look worried," Dean chimed in, following Sam's lead. "Was there something weird about it?"

"Leave her alone," one of the men said. He half turned and glared at Dean. "You want weird? You go talk to Sammi."

Dean blinked at the man and glanced at Sam. "Who?"

"Sammi Smith," the man repeated in a surly tone.

"What? He owned the house where she lived or something?"

The man shot him a dirty look. "She's in the library, digging in old records looking for God knows what shit." He turned back to his coffee. "Ain't even from around here."

Dean looked at Sam, mouthing the word "library." Sam shrugged, and tucked into his food. Dean did the same.

The library was just off of Main Street, on Summer Boulevard. It was an old brick building with deep blue shingles that was built in the same style as the town hall. There was a more recent addition, but the rest looked to be the original building from the town's foundation. The library was fairly empty, with only one or two patrons sitting at tables, reading. "We should've asked what she looked like," Sam whispered. He turned and noticed a sign over a door labeled "Records." He nodded at it. "Let's look there."

Sure enough, there was someone seated at the table farthest from the door. She had jet black hair and was wearing a puffy red down jacket and black wool gloves with the fingertips cut off. She had large silver hoop earrings and was listening to an MP3 player as she perused old newspapers bound into large volumes. There was a laptop bag beside her, a stack of four spiral notebooks and three journals of the sort that girls liked to buy in stationery stores. They were all stuffed with papers and she had two gel pens in front of her, closest to her right hand.

"Sammi?" Dean asked, stepping farther into the room. He suddenly realized why she was in the jacket and gloves; there was no heat in the addition, and the summer heat seemed to have completely dissipated.

The girl looked up. She had wide set crystal blue eyes in a heart shaped face and a few blemishes she had covered up with makeup. "Huh? It's not closing time yet."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest to conserve heat. "Are you Sammi Smith?" She nodded. "Oh. We were looking for you."

She grasped one of the pens as she leaned back in the chair. It exposed her wrists; the left sported a large plastic watch but the right had a silver bracelet studded with gems. The silver had a delicate etching pattern in it that looked almost like protection sigils.

"Is that a protection marker?" Sam asked, peering at it.

Her suspicious glance softened slightly. "A Celtic one."

Dean grinned at her. "So what are you looking up?"

"Why were you looking for me?" she countered.

"There was an article in the paper about a murder with no forced entry, no explanation as to how it happened."

Sammi nodded. "Yeah. Betsy Leighton. She lived on Abner."

"This guy at the diner had said you're the one to go to for information," Sam added helpfully.

"Yeah, well, someone has to do these things," she replied defensively. "They certainly don't look for themselves."

"Hey, I hear ya," Dean said amiably. "Mind if I sit?"

"It's a public library."

"What are you taking notes on?" Sam asked as Dean sat. He managed not to laugh at her disgruntled expression when Dean grabbed one of her notebooks. Papers fluttered out, and Sam thought he saw grave etchings and Latin notes in a spidery handwriting.

"What's up with the town?"

"You're not from around here," Sammi replied, eyeing Dean warily.

"Neither are you," Dean replied. "You know, this is really accurate information about skinwalkers." His brow furrowed as he looked at Sammi. "Where'd you find it?"

The distrust fell from her expression. "You're _Hunters?"_

"Um... Yeah. Sort of the family business," Dean said with a smile. "I'm Dean Winchester, and that's my brother Sam."

"We have the same name," Sammi said, smiling at Sam.

"Same job, too."

Sammi shook her head. "Not quite, I'm sure."

"So what are we looking at here? Skinwalker? Ghoul? Ghost?"

"I don't know. But Betsy wasn't the only one that died in that house on that day."

Dean blinked at Sammi. "Really?"

"I've been looking through newspapers here. I've gone back every day for the past ten years, and it's only been on this one day." Sammi tapped the large bound newspaper with her thumb in a quick rhythm. "I haven't gone back far enough yet to really know why."

Dean furrowed his brow at Sammi. "What are you listening to?"

Sammi pulled out one of her ear buds and passed it over. She laughed at Dean's disgusted expression. "What? You don't like dance music?" She took the ear bud back.

"That's not dance music. That's a computer."

She put the ear bud back in. "I got into this in college. It pisses off my Mum something fierce."

"College? You don't even look that old!"

Sammi snorted. "Oh, please. I'm 25. You're not that much older than me, I'm sure." She shut the massive newspaper book. "Poor things. You had no idea it was this air conditioned in here, did you? I think they think it'll preserve the books or something."

"Need help packing up?" Sam asked, rubbing his arms a little.

"Nah, I'm good. I left the laptop home."

"So why the notebooks?" Sam asked.

"In case I found anything, I could cross reference without having to drag my entire library here."

Sam started, then took up one of her notebooks before she could pack it. There were quotes in Latin and comments beneath it in English that referenced works that he had never heard of. "Latin? I'm impressed."

"Eh. Latin and French were easy. German didn't take, so those books I have in translation." Sammi took the notebook from Sam. "That's really too bad, since I'm sure I'm losing some of the nuance of the text."

Dean's eyebrows had crept up toward his hairline. "So you know three languages?" He looked at Sam. "Hey, Sammy, how many do you know?"

"Shut up," he said, swatting Dean's arm.

"So you've gone back ten years?" Dean asked once they were out in the main part of the library. Sammi took off the jacket and gloves. She had multiple silver rings and necklaces over a dark green shirt and jeans. She sat down in a chair and looked at Dean, nodding. "So what did you find out?"

"Three deaths in the past ten years. I'd have missed it if not for one thing. Reporters always mention murder and no sign of forced entry. Three at that house. Betsy, her Mum a year ago—"

"Wait a minute. Her mother?" Dean asked.

"You say Mum," Sam commented.

"Yeah, well, my Mum's English. Veddy, veddy English. I guess I picked up a few things. And yes, Betsy's Mum. They were talking about it at the funeral. I never knew her, since we only moved here two months ago."

"Was it the same way?"

"Well, there wasn't a lot written about Betsy's Mum. Not so much about the previous tenant, either, but the picture of the scene had the woman covered in a bloody sheet."

"So it's only a woman?" Dean asked.

"I've only gone back ten years..."

"You have to have some ideas…" Dean wheedled.

Sammi looked at both of their faces. "Honestly? I'm leaning toward a ghost. Partly because of what's been reported and partly because of our track record."

"You and your mom are Hunters?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Oh, hell no. She's the girliest girl that you've ever seen. Hell, she avoids the phone and driving and all that stuff. I think I must have the only mother on the planet grateful I got a fake ID when I was sixteen. At that point, I could do all the driving."

"But she's involved somehow?"

"Well, my library at home is built off of hers. She had some fantastic stuff. It's why I learned Latin in the first place. She said she got it from my Dad but never read it."

"So he's a Hunter?"

"No, he's dead," Sammi replied. "He and my older sister died before I was born."

Dean sat back, nonplused. "Okay, I'm confused."

"That's nothing new," Sam teased. "Okay. You're the only Hunter in your family. So why is your Mom involved in this being a ghost?"

Sammi pressed her lips together as she played with one of her rings. "When I was six, I saw a ghost. Freaked Mum out, but I didn't know any better at the time. Since then, we've always seemed to move around a lot. We gravitate to small, older towns in the middle of nowhere. Now, old towns like that have always got _something_ going on." She waited until the brothers nodded, agreeing with her. "At the time, she agreed to let me read up on stuff so I could defend myself against them." Sammi shrugged. "Of course, once I actually started Hunting, she tried grounding me to stop it. Didn't take, obviously. She's protective, is what I'm saying. And every town we've been in has some kind of ghost activity. Not all of them do damage or kill people, but I've talked to a lot of ghosts."

Dean looked at Sam. "So you're not the only psychic, Sammy."

"Shut up about that," Sam hissed.

Sammi leaned forward, crossing her arms over the desk. "You can see ghosts, too?"

"Well, anyone can see them in a haunting," Sam hedged. "It's not that," he clarified, glaring at Dean. "I get... dreams of things sometimes."

Sammi lit up. "Oneiromancy! Awesome!"

"Say what?" Dean asked.

"Oneiromancy. Divination via dreams. I have an entire book on Divination called _Gazing at the Future._ It's like a student's textbook, really. It goes over crystal balls, Tarot cards, rune casting, dowsing, the crystal hangings, you name it. I've got tons of stuff like that." Sammi grinned at them. "You should come over and look at my library. I've got tons of rare books. You'd be surprised what you can get on Ebay."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean said, standing up. He watched Sammi collect her things. "So both Sammys are psychic geeks. Go figure."

"It must be the name," Sammi replied with a grin. Sam flushed.

They walked to Sammi's house, which was five minutes from the library. The Smith home was a rented furnished Victorian with a large, fenced-in yard. It had two steep stories, a wraparound porch and gingerbread trim. Like all the other old houses in town, it had dark blue shingles on the roof. "Town specialty," she commented when Dean asked about it. "The factory is out past the commercial district. It's been in operation for years and employs most of the town."

"You don't work?" Sam asked.

"Nah," Sammi replied, shrugging. "Too busy. How do you finance Hunting, then? Amulets aren't cheap."

"Hustling pool," Dean replied with a rakish grin.

Sammi shook her head as she unlocked the door. "Too much trouble, if you ask me." She hung up her jacket and tossed her gloves onto the shelf above the hangers. She brought them into the sumptuously furnished parlor as she shouted "Mum! I'm home!"

As Sammi pulled down a book entitled _Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ a thin woman with crystal blue eyes and dark blonde hair arrived at the doorway. She gasped at the sight of the brothers. "Samantha Aurelia! Who are these people in my home?"

"Mum, this is Dean and Sam Winchester," Sammi replied, pointing to the appropriate brother. "They're Hunters, too."

If anything, Sammi's mother blanched. Sam extended his hand. "Hello, Mrs. Smith."

She had a limp grip and couldn't seem to get away fast enough. "I'll put on a spot of tea," she said, her accent crisp and vaguely disapproving. She leveled a glance at Sammi, who blithely ignored it and was pulling down a very old-looking leather bound edition of _Malleus Maleficarum_ in Latin.

"She hates the idea of my Hunting," Sammi explained afterward. "She got so pissed when she heard I went tromping through a graveyard."

"How else are you going to salt and burn the bones?" Dean asked, picking up a book entitled _Basic Defense Against the Dark Arts._

"Oh, I've worked out a compromise. I talk them to the other side. Mum's happier that way."

Sam looked up from the Divinations text. "That's dangerous." As Sammi opened her mouth to protest, he gestured towards the books. "Anyway, where did you get these?"

"These are from Mum's collection. She won't explain how she got them or why she saved them." Sammi frowned. "She doesn't explain a lot, actually. You know, there are no pictures of Dad or Diana. At all. Mum can't work a camera, but I imagine Dad could." She shook her head. "In any case, maybe tomorrow we can split up the decades? The stacks go back as far as 1911, when the newspaper was started. The town itself wasn't founded that much before."

"We could check just the date, see what happened."

"The library closes at four thirty," Sammi told them, pulling down a book called _Mages Through the Ages._ She smiled at them. "We can start tomorrow."

There was a throat clearing from the doorway. Sammi's mother stood there with a silver tray and an antique porcelain tea set. Sammi beamed and helped her mother bring the set to the antique oak desk in the parlor. "Ooh! Scones! I love those."

"For Merlin's sake, Samantha," her mother chided when she snatched up a scone. "Use your manners, I know you have them."

"Yes, Mum," Sammi replied. She kissed her mother's cheek. "Can they stay for dinner?"

"If it's too much trouble, we can eat at the diner again," Sam said. He noted her mother's unease right away and gave her his most charming smile. "We parked by the library, so if you can point us in the right direction, we'll be out of here in no time."

Sammi's mother shook her head. "That wouldn't be proper. Samantha, take those things out of your ears. I'll set aside two extra places in the back. Try not to lose track of time, dear."

Sammi pulled out the ear buds and grinned at her mother. She leaned casually against the oak desk, pulling apart the scone. "Thanks, Mum." She poured the tea as her mother left the room. "Come on, then. Snacks for studying, yeah?"

"Your Mom has some weird sayings," Dean commented.

"She's English. She can't help it." Sammi gobbled up the scone in hand and then went back to the books they had pulled off the shelves. "So what d'you wanna study?"

Sam brought his cup of tea closer to the low table where the books were piled. "I still don't understand how your Mom could have all this and not use it."

"Well, I know they're from some hole-in-the-wall shop in England somewhere called Flourish and Blotts. I already checked, but there's no online version to order more. I wind up trolling Ebay and half the time strike paydirt."

They wound up discussing various forms of divination until it was time for Sammi to fire up the grill and cook dinner. "Think we can push our luck and get an invite to stay overnight?" Dean asked hopefully, helping Sammi set up.

"Not on your life, Dean," Sammi replied cheerfully.

After dinner, the brothers walked back to the library to get the Impala. Sammi had let Sam borrow divination books to read, promising to bring others with her the next day.

"That shit's pretty wild, dude," Dean said, shaking his head as they got into the car. "Those books are beyond anything that Dad ever had." Dean fired up the engine and began to drive.

"We could try to use this to find Dad."

"Or the next job."

"Or _Dad,"_ Sam repeated. "Hey, I think that's the inn that Sammi was talking about."

"It's so weird. Two Sammys are way too many." He smirked playfully at Sam. "Think I got a shot with her?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Never. She's more interested in books and talking shop." He paused for a moment. "On second thought, maybe it could work. But at least wait until we've gotten rid of the ghost, all right?"

Laughing, they left the car and got a room for the night.

***

She was already sitting on the library steps, ear buds in and gloves on, with her jacket on her lap. She was singing along, foot tapping in time to the beat. "Your car's old," she commented as the brothers walked up.

Dean looked affronted. "Don't knock my baby."

"You're here early," Sam commented, interrupting.

"I'm a morning person," Sammi replied, standing. "You have jackets today?"

"Yeah. But there's nothing interesting about most library books..." Dean began.

Sammi snorted. "I have a book in my attic that'll prove you wrong," she said, opening the library doors. "As soon as sunlight touches it, the book starts screaming." She looked at their stunned faces. "I kid you not. Candles or flashlights are okay, but sunlight got the damn thing to start screaming. Mum grounded me for a month."

Dean shook his head as they walked into the library. "Demon book."

"Yeah, probably. I mean, it was stamped _Hogwarts Restricted Section_ on the inside cover. Probably some sort of limited edition printing. I haven't found any Hogwarts Publishing online, either." Sammi put on her jacket. "All right. We should only have to look up August third in all of the newspapers."

They split up the bound newspapers and began to backtrack their way from the recent murders. "I found it," Sam called out sometime after lunch. "Charity Lovelace, aged 19, brutally murdered in her home on the evening of August third. She was hanged in her bedroom after being tortured for several hours. Her killer was never found."

"How do you know it's her?" Dean asked, leaning over to look at the article. Sam leaned back so Dean and Sammi could look at the photos included in the article. Charity Lovelace had dark hair, a pale face and formal clothing. There was a photo of the crime scene and one of the front of the house, with a body beneath a bloody sheet beside local police.

"That's almost exactly the same photo the paper ran for Betsy's Mum," Sammi said.

They looked around that article and found others with Charity Lovelace. The only child of Harold and Grace Lovelace, she was heiress to the Haven Tile Company, which had its main factory just outside of town. Charity had won the county beauty contest at the previous year's fair, and was betrothed to Marcus Bayfield, whose family owned a munitions company. Two days after the pageant, she was brutally murdered.

"So now, we find the body, salt and burn it," Dean said.

Sammi pulled a face. "Ew. Gross."

"Yeah, but it's gotta be done."

"I usually talk them over."

"She's killed twenty-six people in the past seventy-two years," Sam pointed out. "Talking probably isn't the way to go."

"It's worked for me."

"What? No ghost ever tried to kill you?" Dean challenged. He laughed when Sammi's face froze. "See? That's why we burn 'em."

"I was twelve! And if you tell my Mum I'll deny it most soundly," Sammi added.

"Dude, we're not going to _tattle."_

"She's already suspicious of you guys anyway." Dean and Sam looked at each other, then back at Sammi. "What? It's not like I've had friends over before, let alone Hunters. So, of course she thinks you're yanking my chain."

Dean snorted and Sam shook his head. "Why is your Mom so suspicious? I mean, you barely know anything about her, let alone your family."

Sammi frowned at them and folded her hands in front of her. "Look. Shit went down before I was born. I'm not stupid. I _know_ we must have been running from something, but there's only so much that she'll tell me. There's only so much I can dig for. And to be perfectly honest, whatever I _do_ know, I don't have to tell you."

"No," Dean agreed, face solemn. "But who else do you have to tell? Who else would understand what it's like?"

Sammi shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Sam cut her off. "A demon killed our mother. That's the real reason we started this."

Sammi's mouth opened, then shut. "Mum knows a lot," she began slowly. "I've always thought maybe she and Dad were Hunters, perhaps they were caught in something that got too dangerous. Maybe that's why she was so horrified I could see ghosts and could do the work. I've seen some old letters and things, before they went missing. Alice Longbottom is either a good friend or an aunt or something, I don't know. But she used Mum's full name – Serafima, not Sara. There are _no_ pictures of my Dad or sister. There are no belongings. _Nothing._ There are vague comments about someone with the perfectly awful nickname of You Know Who. But she won't tell me anything, I can't find any Alice Longbottom anywhere we've ever lived, or anyone that knows her. So it really doesn't matter. She doesn't want to tell me, and there's no way for me to even look it up."

"So make her tell you," Dean argued.

Sammi rolled her eyes at him. "And you're such an expert on behavior that you can _make_ someone do something? Because right now, she sure as hell doesn't want to tell me _anything."_

"Let's go now." Dean stood up. He smiled confidently at Sammi's stunned expression. "C'mon."

Sammi stopped and made copies of the articles about Charity Lovelace and put them into her laptop bag. "What does your Mom do while you're at the library?" Sam asked her as she made the copies.

"Hell if I know. Make pies or something?" Sam got the feeling she was lying, but didn't call her on it. He was probably already stepping over boundary lines.

They walked to Sammi's house and decided to go through the back door. It was locked, but instead of shouting as she usually did, Sammi entered quietly. Dean shut the door behind them. The house was silent.

Sammi put her belongings down in the parlor. No one was on the first floor. The three of them crept up the stairs silently and began to check the second floor. Sam could tell which room was Sammi's right away. There was an impressive computer station and stereo in that room. There were piles of books, clothes scattered around and a sense of youthful exuberance. The other bedroom was absent of all personal touches, a stark contrast.

"There's the attic or the basement," Sam remarked.

"Attic," Sammi replied. "Mum doesn't like dark places."

There were pull-down stairs to the attic. Sam opened them slowly, so that the hinges didn't creak. They went up the stairs single file, entering the near twilight of the attic. There were labeled boxes stacked in neat piles and Sammi's Mum was seated near the attic window. In her lap was an open book that looked like a photo album. She looked to be deeply involved in looking at it, and didn't hear their approach.

"Mum."

Startled, her mother looked up, slamming the photo album shut.

Still, they all saw that the photos were _moving,_ as if they were mini movies embedded onto the page.

"What are you doing here, Samantha?"

"You're crying, Mum," Sammi replied. She held her hand out. "What are you looking at? Let me see it."

Sammi watched her mother pull back in on herself. "You're back early. What happened?"

"We finished. I had help, so it went faster. What are you looking at, Mum? What are you hiding from me?" Sammi's voice took on a hard edge.

"This isn't the time or the place..."

"Then when?" Sammi snapped. "When I talk to _your_ ghost? When I'm dead and gone? When?"

"This is not the place!" her mother snapped, standing up. The album was clutched tightly in her hand. Dean snatched it from her and Sam shifted position so that she couldn't get it back. "No!"

Dean opened the book and goggled at the photos. "Dude! They move!"

Sammi touched one of the photos, which had a young man holding a young girl and dancing with her while a very pregnant but much younger Sara stood nearby. "Is this Dad? And Diana? Is that them?" she asked, voice hushed.

Sara shook her head and backed away from them.

"Mum..." Sammi began. "Why did you hide this from me? How does this even work?"

Sara snatched the album and raced out of the attic. They chased her into the parlor.

"Why won't you tell me?" Sammi demanded. "And that book! You _lied_ to me! You said there was nothing of Dad and nothing of Diana. They're right there! You _lied!"_

"Samantha Aurelia, you will _not_ speak to me that kind of tone!"

"You _lied,"_ Sammi hissed. "So why should I listen to you? Why don't I just go to England and start looking around there? I'll find out who You Know Who is. I'll find Alice Longbottom. I'll see if we even have family left, since you certainly didn't tell me a damn thing about any of it."

Sara had grown more and more pale as Sammi spoke. "You will _not_ go back there. You will _not._ I won't allow it."

"You won't allow it?" Sammi choked, incredulous. "What gives you the right? I'm the one that's always had to do everything while you sit back and watch. You're the one that was too afraid to leave the fucking house!"

"You _cannot_ go!" Sara shrieked. "I will not let you die!"

The entire room fell silent. "What?" Sammi whispered.

"There was a war," Sara whispered. "So many died..."

"What war took place in 1980?" Sam asked, confused.

Sara opened the album to the first page. "We're wizards, Samantha. And there were Dark Wizards... Your father was an Auror and a member of the Order of the Phoenix, working to catch those wizards. I was visiting my friend Alice when they... I found them, your father and your sister. Alice is the one that suggested that I live as a Muggle to hide from them. She kept contact for a while, and then it just stopped. She was an Order member, too. She's probably dead now..."

"You lied," Sammi whispered, dazed. "You _lied."_

"Samantha..."

"Is Smith even my last name?" Sammi screeched suddenly, eyes widening. "What is it, really? Who the fuck am I?"

"Don't you dare use that kind of language, young lady! Your father was a halfblood, but mine is a pureblood family. No Lovegood would ever behave in such a manner! As strange as his beliefs were, even my brother Xeno would never speak in such a way!"

Sammi turned and ran from the house.

Dean looked at Sam. "I'll get her."

She hadn't run far. She was standing at the edge of the property, hands over her face as she struggled to breathe properly. Dean touched her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. "Hey." Dean gently pulled her hands from her face. "Don't cry."

Sammi allowed him to pull her into an embrace. She tucked her face against his shoulder as she began to sob. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair gently. "Sh... She loves you, you know."

"She _lied_ to me. She kept them from me."

"Yeah. People do pretty stupid things to protect the people they love," Dean murmured. He pressed his lips to her temple. "She's still your Mom."

"I know."

"You'll have to talk to her sometime."

"I know."

Dean wrapped his arms tightly around her. "We'll wait it out a bit, let the other Sammy soften her up a bit."

Sammi nodded, still sniffling. "Thank you."

"Eh. No problem. I know how dysfunctional families work."

Sammi laughed, a bitter edge to it. "Yeah. This is pretty bad, though. Isn't it? Wizards and killing and shit? That's a big deal."

"It can be." Dean kept a tight hold on her. "But you gotta remember that it wasn't all a lie. You did have a Dad. You did have a sister. And whatever war it was, she wanted to keep you safe. Maybe it wasn't the greatest plan, but she meant well."

Sammi pulled back slightly, looking up at Dean with her tear-stricken eyes. "She lied. I mean, what if this isn't even my name? I mean, Samantha fucking Smith. That's such a bland name, such a _fake_ name. How do I even know who I am anymore? How can I ever trust her again? Everything was built on a lie."

Dean squeezed her shoulder. "Maybe. But not how it counts. She loves you. Not a lot of sense, but hey." Sammi looked away, blinking back tears. "Hey. You're a good kid, all right? Crappy taste in music and you know shit about cars, but you're still a good kid."

Sammi barked out a startled laugh, then looked at Dean. Her smile was wistful. "Thanks."

They remained silent for a while, staring at each other. "There's still a ghost to get rid of."

"Yeah. And I probably have to talk to her," Sammi sighed.

"Probably. And I know you love talking and all that girly shit, but I still want to get our stuff, just in case we still need to salt and burn the bones."

"All right. If it makes you happy."

"A lot of things make me happy," Dean replied. Sammi blinked. "Maybe you could find out sometime."

The flush that rose along her cheeks was fascinating. "Maybe."

Dean grinned. "All right. Let's get Sam and toast the ghost."

***

Sam waited until Dean had shut the door before turning to look at Serafima—Sara—Sammi's mother. Whichever name she went by.

"Why do the pictures move like that?" he asked, gesturing toward the album. "This magic stuff?"

Serafima narrowed her eyes at Sam. "You're aware of magic."

"Yeah, well, we're Hunters. We know about magic and demons. We know what's out there." Sam approached slowly, reaching out for the album. "This is beyond our league, though."

Serafima looked down at the book in her hands. "It's all I have of them," she said softly, sadly. "Samantha is all I have left."

"You must have been terrified when she could see ghosts," Sam guessed.

"You have no idea," Serafima murmured. "I was so afraid she would have magic, that she would be found. When no Hogwarts letter came, I knew she was safe. It's so awful, but I was grateful that she was a Squib." At Sam's blank look, Serafima sighed. "No magic. She's born a Muggle like you, and could never go to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There's a list, you see... All magical children are on it, and if someone tried to look for us, she could be found."

"But if you're here and on the move..."

"And I let my family think we're dead. Xeno and his wife, our friends... Everyone but Alice. Even her husband Frank didn't know. Everyone in the Order thought we'd been killed. It was that kind of time." Serafima sat down on the sofa, album in her lap. "I almost sent an owl to Molly, just to tell her, to ask her about things, but I didn't. I didn't do anything. I just moved and kept moving, always running. Even Alice is dead now, surely."

Sam sat down next to her. "But what if Sammi does have magic? What if the ability to see ghosts or have dreams is some kind of magic? Wouldn't it be better if she knew how to use it?"

Serafima shook her head. "Whatever little magical communities exist in this country are fragmented. There's no system like in England. We're safe. As long as she stays here, she's safe. She has to be."

Sam thought of his father, of hunting and the chaotic childhood he'd had. "Our mother was killed by a demon. We've spent our lives hunting since then. Sometimes you can't avoid it. The most you can do is make sure she's learned all she can."

"I can't lose her."

"If you hold on too tight, you might anyway."

She looked down at the album, at her long-dead husband dancing with her long-dead daughter. "I've lost so much already."

"She just needs to know who she is. I can tell you, there's something missing if you don't know a parent. She needs you to fill that hole."

Serafima traced the edge of a different photograph. "I've lost them all, not just my husband. His cousin Molly and her husband Arthur, my brother and his wife, our friends... It's too much to lose again."

"But if she remembers them, they're not lost. Just think about it. Memories are sometimes the only thing keeping people alive."

"Like ghosts."

Sam nodded as she sighed. "Just think about it," he murmured, almost disturbed to see Serafima so deflated. "Now isn't the time for any snap decisions."

"You're too young to be so wise."

"Loss does that."

Serafima looked at him sadly. "It does, doesn't it?"

They looked up at the sound of the opening door. Dean ducked his head in as Sammi passed through to her laptop bag on the desk. Serafima looked as though she had been slapped. "She needed to get some stuff, Sam. We should get our stuff, just in case. There's still a job to do."

"Be careful," Serafima pleaded, voice breaking.

Sammi paused at the door to the parlor, back to her mother. She turned, face pulled into a taut mask, eyes shining with unshed tears. "Always, Mum."

They walked to the library, then drove to the house the Leightons had been renting. It was dark in the house; Nathan recently had been spending more time in the bar than at work or at home. The rumors around him were vicious now: Either he'd killed his mother and sister or driven them to suicide. He wasn't safe, and he was getting mean.

The three of them walked up to the second floor apartment. The door was unlocked, so they entered into the living room. Sammi sighed as she looked around. "It was beautiful in here once. Can't you see it?" she asked when they gave her a puzzled stare.

"No. But seeing ghosts is your thing," Dean replied.

"She's in here." Sammi moved into the bedroom. The door was closed but not locked. The air was chill, but not ghostly. The boys both carried shotguns with salt shells just in case, and Dean had his bag with more shells. Just in case.

Sammi was staring at the corner of the room. While the brothers couldn't see it, she could see Charity at a dressing table, brushing her hair in front of the mirror.

"Hello, Charity."

The ghost whirled to face Sammi; the boys could see her form begin to flicker. "Who are you?"

"I've come to talk with you," Sammi replied, hand over her laptop bag.

"Did Marcus tell you to come? Or did Alexander?"

"Neither. Do you remember Betsy Leighton? Or her mother?"

Charity came into stark relief for the Winchesters as she rose and approached Sammi. "They screamed at me. What is this? What joke are you playing? I told Alexander I wouldn't marry him and Marcus already secured my parents' interest."

Sammi opened her bag and pulled out the copy of the article detailing Charity's death. "What's the last thing you clearly remember, Charity? What day was it?"

Charity frowned. "What game is this?"

"No game. What day was it?"

"August third," Charity replied. "Alexander..." Her eyes grew round as she touched her face. "He was angry with me. I hadn't told my parents of his interest."

Sammi approached slowly, carefully, eyes locked with Charity's. "What happened? What happened to you that day?"

"He had a knife," she choked out, pushing her hand over her mouth. "If he couldn't have me, he wouldn't let Marcus..." Cuts blossomed over her face and arms, and blood bloomed over her chest. "Oh!" She staggered back and moaned in pain. "He's laughing at me, laughing. I won't ever be pretty for Marcus now. No one else will want me..." Charity sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

"But that wasn't enough, was it?" Sammi prodded, holding out the copied article.

Charity dropped her hands from her face, and the blood and cuts were gone. She cautiously approached Sammi and took the article in her hands. "My family's money," she said softly, running her fingertips over the photo of her corpse. "He said Marcus would still want the money even if I was worthless."

"So he killed you." Charity began to cry, nodding. "And the others that lived here? And the Leightons? Why them?"

"They laughed at me!" she raged, lunging forward. Her face looked skeletal and bloody, hair hanging down over her face in blood-spattered clumps. Sammi was in the way, and the brothers couldn't get a clear shot. "She _screamed_ at me!"

"This isn't who you are," Sammi replied calmly. She reached out and pushed the clots of hair aside. Charity's form shifted, and she looked as she had in the photo announcing her win at the county beauty contest. "Death isn't all you are."

Charity frowned as Sammi brought out the other copied article. The ghost didn't notice the two shotguns aimed at her chest. She took the proffered article from Sammi. "But..."

"He trapped you in your last moments," Sammi said, watching as Charity sank down onto the bed in confusion. "He made you into something different and trapped you here. But that's not who you are." Sammi pointed to the article. _"That's_ who you are. _That's_ what you have to remember."

Charity's face was mournful. "I've done awful things."

Sammi sat down beside her and took away the article about her death. "Lots of people do. We do awful things when we're confused and lonely and hurt. It doesn't make us evil."

Charity studied at the photo of herself from the contest. "I've made such an awful mess of things, I know it."

"They're waiting for you," Sammi replied gently. "Your parents. They've waited a long time."

Now Charity looked up in a panic. "But what do I say? How do I explain? They'll be so angry with me! And I don't even know if I'll really see them..."

"Did you ever travel before?" Charity shook her head sadly. "Think of this as traveling, then. You're going somewhere new, like an adventure." Sammi looked over into the corner where Charity had been hanged all those years before. "Can you see the gate?"

Charity looked, and there was ghostly door there. Even the Winchesters could see it now. "I'm afraid," she whispered, hands clutched to her chest. "This is all I know."

Sammi picked up one of the pages. She handed it over, and Charity looked at the article about the fair. "This is who you are. This is what you need to remember." Her voice was soft, gentle. "They're your parents. They've always loved you, and now is no different. They're waiting for you."

Charity clutched the article and stood. She tentatively approached the door as it swung open. There was a bright light beyond it, and the brothers squinted against it. Sammi faced it head on.

Charity turned back at the threshold. "Thank you."

Sammi's smile was bittersweet. "Take care, Charity."

Once she stepped through the door, the light, door and chill air were gone. Now it was stuffy in the bedroom, warm air almost cloying and sickly sweet with perfume.

Dean looked at Sammi sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes damp and unseeing. He lowered the shotgun he was holding and picked up the discarded article. "You all right?" Sammi's eyes snapped to his, and he was startled by her lost expression. "It worked, Sammi."

"Yeah. Sorry, I'm not usually a weepy baby." She rose almost awkwardly. "I'd better get home, then. You'll probably be on your way."

"We could stay a bit, make sure that everything's gone," Sam offered.

"Listen," Dean began as Sammi opened her mouth. "At least let us drive you home."

She seemed to deflate somewhat. "Okay."

Sammi was silent, staring out of the backseat window. She didn't ask what else they had brought with them, or what else they might have in the Impala. Sam looked at Dean as they left the car, then pointed at the Smith house with his head. Dean shot him a "duh" look and took Sammi's elbow, guiding her to the house.

Just inside the front door, Sammi turned to them. Her smile was that same bittersweet one she had given Charity's ghost. "Thanks, guys. It was nice getting to talk shop a bit..."

Serafima rushed to the door, a worried look on her face. "Samantha?" She stopped short, and looked from Sammi to the brothers. "Why don't you stay tonight? Dinner? You can't have eaten much for lunch..."

"I made sandwiches..." Sammi began.

"You can get your things from the inn," Serafima insisted. "We have the room here."

Something in Sammi's expression brightened. She turned to Sam and Dean, a hopeful look on her face. "Can you?"

The brothers looked at each other, then Dean shrugged. "Sure. Dinner last night was great."

When the brothers returned from checking out of the inn, Sammi and her mother weren't quite speaking. Still, Serafima was making the effort to point out who the people in the pictures were and to stammer out some kind of explanation as how they were all related. Everyone watched in amazement as Serafima pulled a wand out of her sleeve and began arranging the kitchen and rapidly cooking dinner. "It was in the attic," she explained as they all sat down to eat.

After dinner, Serafima left Sammi with the brothers in the parlor. They swapped ghost stories for a while, then Sammi helped them set up the couch for them to sleep. Sammi paused in the doorway. "Thank you. She's trying now." Her smile was soft and grateful. "I mean, _really_ trying. Thank you."

Dean's grin was expansive. "Hey, it's what we do."

Sam waited until Sammi was gone to smack Dean in the arm. "Dude, her mother's upstairs."

Dean rolled his eyes. "What? I didn't do anything."

Sighing, Sam got ready for bed. He was somewhat gratified that Dean didn't immediately try to sneak upstairs.

The next morning, the brothers were all set to depart in the afternoon. Sammi walked them out, a bag in hand. "I thought about making a mix tape for you guys," she began, glancing at Dean, "but I figured Dean would just chuck it out the window once you hit the highway." She laughed when Dean shrugged but didn't deny it. "So I'm giving you something you could actually use."

Sam opened the bag and blinked. "Your notebooks?"

"Mom would freak if I gave you her schoolbooks. But this way you have the basics on divination, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy and Dark Creatures." She grinned at their stunned faces. "Don't worry, I've got the original books."

Sam gaped at her. "This is great. Thanks."

Sammi gave him a tight hug. "Whatever you said to Mum yesterday is thanks enough." She turned to Dean and gave him a hug as well. Then she cupped the nape of his neck as she leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Dean grinned at her when she pulled away, a blush rising along her cheeks. "It's been fun."

"I put my cell phone number in there," she murmured, not quite able to meet Dean's eyes. "Call me? We could... I could do research to help you out."

His grin was cocky. "I'll do that."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. "We should probably hit the road."

Sammi smiled at them both. "Keep me posted, yeah? Maybe when Mum's not so freaked out I could join you."

"We tend to fight scary shit," Dean warned.

"I'll go back to karate, then," Sammi replied with a shrug. "Apparently, it's a family business for me, too. So at some point, I'd want to do more than just talk ghosts over."

"Still, that's useful," Sam pointed out. He and Dean got into the Impala. "It was great meeting you, Sammi."

Sammi leaned over and looked in at Sam through the passenger window. "Hey, develop that oneiromancy. I put Tarot cards in there, too. Tradition says your first deck should be a gift. I gave you the Rider-Waite deck. Fairly good to start with, manly enough to use. You can meditate on the cards to guide your dreams." She stood up. "Happy hunting."

"Happy hunting," Sam echoed.

Sammi stood on the sidewalk until the Impala turned off of her street, then headed back inside.

On the main road, Dean grinned at Sam. "She totally was into me. Did you see that?"

"So you're gonna call her?" Sam queried.

Dean's smile was self assured, and he looked into the rearview mirror. "Maybe. So where do you want to head next? There wasn't much happening nearby."

Sam looked out of the window as the miles slid past. "Where would Dad go? We should head somewhere he would, see if we can find out something about Dad." He thought of the Tarot cards in the bag at his feet when Dean nodded. He turned up the music. "We always find something to do."

"True enough."

They sped off into the sunlit afternoon.

 

The End.


End file.
